


Denial

by shemlentrash (Jess_X)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: BDSM, Denial, F/M, Impact Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Paddling, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:30:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5298350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_X/pseuds/shemlentrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oneshot. Hawke is wanting in the middle of the night. Fenris is irritable and feeling a little sadistic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Denial

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING for established Dom/sub relationship (Dom!Fenris and sub!hawke), and sadomasochism. Also, use of the word "cunt" that I know makes some people uncomfortable, and the word "bitch."

“Fenris?”

Hawke rolls over in the shadows, reaching blindly for the elf who has finally begun to share her bed recently. “Fenris?” she croaks again. He is a dark lump beside her, and barely moves as she hisses his name. Groaning, she flops back onto her pillow. She has woken out of agitation, for it has been days since they’ve had the time or energy to touch one another properly, and her body is aching for him at this point. She was greeted tonight by a dull throb in her lower belly, a magnetic pull that she cannot quell. “Fenris,” she sighs again, getting desperate.

Finally, he stirs. He mumbles something incoherent, and the sound of his sleepy voice makes her smile. She presses herself against his back, and nuzzles the back of his neck.

The elf grunts, but leans his head back against her face as though in greeting. “What is it?”

She wraps her arms around his middle, and kisses his bare shoulder. “I miss you,” she says, pouting deliberately as she trails her lips along the markings on his collarbone.

He snorts. “I’ve been at your side for days,” he reminds her.

“Yes, but - traveling in the mountains with our friends is hardly the same as… this.” She lets her fingers slide down his taut stomach, and he sucks in a breath.

“Careful,” he warns in a low voice.

Hawke giggles, giddy from the thrill of his closeness. “Why?”

A hand closes over hers, stopping it in its tracks. “My markings,” he says quietly.

She flinches, suddenly realizing how tense he is, and pulls back from him a little. “I’m… so sorry, Fenris.”

Cold runs through her, as though she’s swallowed ice, and her heart sears with regret. Sometimes she forgets. She never means to, but there are moments when his chronic discomfort escapes her, and she might reach out for him, unthinking. She scoots back further from him, her face contorting in sorrow. It’s all so much worse to know he fears her inherently, to be a mage and sleep in the same bed as him. It makes every slip up that much worse.  “Oh, Maker, I - I’m sorry. You know, I can be thoughtless sometimes.”

Fenris rolls over to face her, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and stretching slightly. “It’s alright,” he tells her, placing a cool hand on her face. “Sometimes it is harder to ignore the pain when I first wake up. But it will pass. You see?” He pulls her flush against his chest, so that she can feel his rapid heartbeat through the lace of her nightdress. “Already it hurts less. Pain always fades quickly under your touch.”

Her heart flutters. “Fenris,” she sighs. “I really am sorry. It’s just…” She bites her lip, coy and sweet, drawing out a knowing smirk from Fenris’ tired expression.

“Ah,” he breathes. “I see. I know what you’re after.” The elf then turns away to stretch, accidentally sliding the blankets from her a little. “And I’m not going to give it to you.”

Hawke’s mouth falls open, and she whines. “What!” She runs her fingers through his hair. “Why not?”

He chuckles, gazing at her fondly, but with a dark shine to his expression. It boils her insides. “You woke me up. You can hardly expect to be needy and desperate and then have me cater to your pathetic whims, can you?”

Pathetic? She begins to protest, momentarily offended but his smirk tells her everything. This is their game. She smiles, twirling a strand of his lyrium-bleached mop around her finger. “Please,” she breathes. “Fenris.”

“Ah, ah, ah!” He slaps her hand away. “You are being bratty, girl.”

She feels her stomach clench with a flutter of delight. “I know,” she pouts.

He shakes his head gently, cupping her face between both palms and gazing at her as though she were a pitiable child. “What was that, girl?”

Hawke groans. Her chest feels constricted. She needs his touch, craves the way his calloused fingers taste her flesh when they make love. “Please…” she sighs, then bites her lip cautiously. He glares at her expectantly until it dawns on her and she bites out, “Master.”

The elf smirks, sleepy but self satisfied. “There’s my good girl,” he hums, pushing himself into sitting upright in bed. She follows his lead, but he pushes her back down. “No,” he insists. “You will do nothing unless I’ve instructed you to. Understood?”

“Yes, Master,” she chokes out, and she sounds pained.

He takes her by the ankle and turns her, so that her breasts crush into the mattress and she’s forced to lift herself slightly on her arms to accommodate them. Cold, rough skin slides up the back of her thigh, and she gasps. His tattooed hands are her very breath tonight, and it’s all she can do not to start begging for it already. She needs him. He looks so good in the dark of night, feels so right in bed beside her, so powerful. So sexy.

She lets out a small whimper as her gown slips up her backside, his fingers tracing the line where her thighs meet her round ass.

He slaps her buttock lightly. It’s nothing to what she’s used to from him, but it still surprises her, and she flinches. “Pathetic,” he calls her again. “Don’t be greedy. You’re being a real insolent bitch tonight, y’know.”

“I know,” she agrees breathlessly.

“Twenty strikes,” he tells her quietly, his touch lingering on the back of her neck, and she goes tense. “Does that sound fair, girl?”

She nods, nervous but happy. She closes her eyes, grounding herself in preparation for the punishment. She loves when he’s like this. She loves his vicious tone, the sadism in his eyes, and the way he shudders when he hurts her, like he’s never seen anything so beautiful. She loves the way he gasps and hisses in ecstasy any time she shrieks with pain, and could not care less about her friends’ judgements.

For Anders once had taken her aside, protectiveness painting his demeanor as he confessed his concern. He had taken her arm, showing her the bruise on her wrist as though she didn’t already know it was there. “Is he hurting you?” he’d asked, his tone poisonous with hatred and his eyes dangerous. “I’ll tear the bastard apart if he is.” Hawke could only laugh. She hadn’t known what else to do or say, and every time she tried in the past to explain that every bruise was consented to, it only ever seemed to come out wrong.

Now she feels the bed move as Fenris slips off it, and hears his bare footsteps recede. She swallows, waiting patiently, and when he returns, her heart is pounding. Surely her ribs must be bruised by now from this anticipation.

Smooth wood caresses her bottom while a loving hand grips her hipbone to hold her steady. Her breath shudders excitedly. She recognizes that texture. It is the paddle she’d had made for him, specifically for this purpose. It is his favorite, only closely followed by the leather strap they now have hanging on their wall.

“I believe the paddle should suffice. Do you agree?” he asks, and she knows her response will matter very little. She nods to show her consent. “Will I need to bind you tonight, child, or will you restrain yourself from struggling?”

Her voice trembles as she tells him, “I will be good, Master. I swear.”

“I’ve little doubt of that, girl.” he says, and it’s gentle. Suddenly his lips are on the back of her head, planting small kisses there, and she giggles. When he pulls back, she can hear the smile in his voice as he says thoughtfully, “Y’know, I think… Yes, I think I’d rather have you over my knee tonight.” He scoots on the bed a little so that he’s sitting with his legs over the side of it, and tugs her by the hair. “Move.” She does. Hawke crawls over him on shaking limbs, and plants herself dutifully across his lap, once again maneuvering her breasts so that they are not uncomfortable. “Good girl,” Fenris breathes, sounding tense with desire.

His fingers dance along the shape of her backside, and she sighs. “Are you comfortable?” he asks. She nods. “Then tell me,” he says, and she knows what he means.

Grinning, and with an air of faux-innocence, she twists her neck to glance up at him. “Hurt me, Master,” she whispers. “Please.”

The paddle is hardwood. It is thick, heavy, and sleek with a coat of gloss to keep it from splintering, and it feels like heaven against her as he brings it down. The hit resonates, a loud thud that bounces off the walls and rings in her ears as she gasps. It hurts, and that’s exactly how she likes it. Her little moan causes Fenris to tense and bite his lip overhead. “Mm - yes,” she pants as he rubs the wood along her ass again. Her skin is blooming a vibrant pink already.

“You’ve been such a filthy, pathetic brat tonight. Show me you understand that, girl. Thank me for all that I give you.”

She nods hurriedly and moans, “Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”

Hawke has not even finished speaking when the paddle falls to her ass again. She yelps, trying to thank Fenris while the cry of pain still sits on her tongue. “Th-thank you! Master!”

He tuts empathetically, petting her backside as the color spreads. “Only two hits and already you squeal, girl,” he says, and it is clear he is mocking her. She feels her face burn with embarrassment. “I thought you could take more than that.”

“I can, Master,” she cries. “Please!”

“Of course you can. And you will,” Fenris coos, and without warning, he hits her again. She emits a tense moan, forcing back the shriek that is threatening its way out.

“Thank you, Master,” she whimpers again.

There is a hiss above her, and she looks up. Fenris’ lip is between his teeth, and he is shaking his head at her almost in disbelief that she could possibly be real. She feels a nudge on her lower stomach, and smiles weakly. He is getting hard. She loves this part.

Again, he hits her, and again she moans her thanks. She tries to keep count, too, but suddenly the fifth and sixth whacks have passed and she’s dizzy. She can’t keep track anymore. She’s too dazed, too happy, drowning in an agony that spreads from the nerves in her ass to every inch of her body. She leans into every hit, her bruises protesting but her moans telling Fenris plainly, “Yes - Maker, yes, please, more - ”

When there is a pause, she whines. “No!” she cries out. “Don’t… stop…” She is weak, and her voice wavers.

A finger brushes between her legs, and she gasps, lurching in Fenris’ lap. He holds her still. “This makes you wet,” he chuckles. “Punishment gets you off. Pathetic. And adorable.”

“Yes,” she moans. “Yes, I am pathetic, Master, please don’t stop touching me, Master.”

Her heart sinks as he pulls his hand away. She groans, frustrated, bucking backwards into the air. “You should know better than to make demands of me, girl,” he rumbles, and the sound echos in her chest, vibrating through her so she feels it deep in her core. “Do you need reminding why you are over my knee?”

“Because I am bratty and demanding,” she recites, pouting up at him, begging Fenris silently for mercy and release.

“That’s right,” he tells her. “And I haven’t even finished yet.”

Her heart leaps, and she squirms. “Thank you, Master,” she exhales.

He lets his damp fingers dance across her pink ass, and his breathing catches in his chest at the way she shivers. She wants to tease him, to tempt him into touching her more, but Fenris is the most stubborn lover she’s ever had. Having control is important to him, and she loves it.

She squeals at the next whack. It shoots through the nerves of her back, making her spine arch and her legs tense. She thanks him, and though he does not respond, she can practically hear him smirk above her.

More, and more. He does not stop. Each strike leaves her wailing her appreciation, squirming and begging for him to touch her more. She thrashes, tries to cling to his leg, and run her hand up the side of his torso, but he slaps her hands away. “You will not touch me, girl.”

Hawke nods weakly. There is sweat on her brow from the effort of staying put. “Yes, Master,” she concedes quietly, and her voice is tremulous.

“Maker, I love seeing you struggle and in pain,” he purrs. His voice is a rich vibration and it fills her; surrounds her. She moans.

“Please,” she cries. “More, Master. Please.”

“You know better than to be needy like that, don’t you? Just a few more, now. You can take it, little brat that you are. I know you can.”

A pressure is building in her lower belly, where his cock digs greedily into her through the fabric of their nightclothes. She bites her tongue, desperate for it but remaining obedient. Yet she can feel her cunt pulsing, dripping from between her legs onto Fenris’ lap, hot and wanting. She has to close her eyes and slow her breathing, otherwise she fears she might actually come - just from being beaten. She puts her head down, inhaling and exhaling with as much control as she can muster. “Thank you, Master,” she says again, and the next hit comes.

Her bruises are aching, but she’ll take anything he gives her. Only two more to go.

The next blow is hard. She lurches forward and screams. There are tears on her face. “Th-thank you,” she cries. “Master. Thank you.” It takes all her energy not to beg. She is so close to coming, and in so much pain.

“One more, girl,” he tells her softly. His rough fingers are gloriously gentle in her hair, combing out her tangles lovingly. “Just one more.” Then he presses her face down with the palm at the back of her head.

The paddle is punishing, and Hawke’s ass is burning after the last stroke. She is shaking, crying, as red in the face as she is on her backside. She moves limply, like a ragdoll, when Fenris moves her. She is pliable for him. He folds her into his arms, and lays her out on the bed. She winces when her bruises make contact with the sheets, but she does not protest.

Fenris parts her legs. She is too lost in her pain and frustration, and barely realizes what he is up to until his face is immediately between her thighs. She gasps.

Already so worked up from the violent paddling, Hawke completely falls apart when his tongue presses to her clit. He kisses, licks, and suck around the outer vulva, tormenting her as her hips buck to meet him. She tries to press his face into her, but he takes her by the wrists and pins her arms at her sides. She lets out a sigh, twisted with a curse in her desperation. “Please, Master. Please.”

“No,” he tells her, and his breath is hot against her drenched cunt. “Hands to yourself, brat.” His lips are soft, but firm and skillful against her. He devours her like she’s candy, overwhelming her. Her thighs clench around the sides of Fenris’ head, and he stops for the briefest second to plant a kiss to that soft flesh pressing into his cheek.

Hawke has gone feral. She writhes and moans like a woman being slaughtered, the ecstasy so captivating it may as well have been killing her. Fenris chuckles coldly against the mouth of her cunt, and gives her one long, slow lick before letting go of her hands. “Stay,” he says, and she obeys, clenching her fists tight to prevent herself from curling them into his hair.

Then, achingly slow, Fenris teases her with a finger. She swears loudly, trembling. She tries to thrust upward to force his finger into her, but he does not allow it. It is a whole minute of tormentous circling with that finger before he finally penetrates her. She gasps. His tongue comes to meet his hand, and suddenly there is a second finger, and he is fucking her with such precision she becomes lightheaded in seconds.

“Fuck. Fenris. M- Master. Please. Fuck. I’m - ”

The rapture is close at hand, gripping her by her heart and demanding release. It squeezes her, takes complete control. Her neck curls back, her mouth wide and her spine arching. She almost crushes Fenris’ face between her legs as he lavishes her clit still, feasting on her cunt’s warmth, drawing long sighs from her. She digs her fingernails into the sheets and tugs violently. She feels him laugh against her, feels his mouth still working, and her moan cracks on the air, mere inches from ecstasy.

“No.” He pulls away. She wails in agony, and bites her own fingers to stop herself from protesting too harshly. “You will not come tonight, girl. No.”

Then he is crawling above her, hips between her thighs. She does not know when he yanked his smalls down, but she doesn’t care. She’s weak and shaking and desperate, and has to close her eyes to stop herself from coming on the spot when he presses the head of his cock against her cunt lips.

Fenris is particularly long, and he stuffs her full. Heavy and hot inside her, he buries his cock deep. They fit perfectly, and it is beautiful. He brings his hands to her wrists again and pins her, fucking her with inhuman dexterity. He has hips meaner than any Hawke had encountered in her life, hips that could bruise with speed that only an elf could ever achieve. The skill with which he pumped himself into her cunt has her reeling. “That’s my good girl,” he groans, leaning down to whisper gruffly in her face. “Feel me use your body as my plaything. Feel me take pleasure from your filthy cunt and know that it is mine.” He moans. His voice is tense. “All… mine…”

When his lips brush hers, just barely, he lets out a strained grunt from the back of his throat, and his eyes roll. So worked up, it takes him very little to finally come. He spills copiously in the confines of her body, spending every drop while her neck cranes up anxiously to capture his mouth. They meet, and he kisses her deeply, tongue digging hard into her throat in a reflection of the cock that fills her. She squirms and moans furiously, desperate to climax but obeying well.

The way he is dripping out of her feels so good. Semen dribbles down her ass, painting her bruises and making her thighs sticky. He releases her mouth to look at her. His face is damp with sweat, and very flush.

Fenris still has her wrists in his grasp, and he does not let go for a long while, even after he’s slipped out of her. His semen still drips from her throbbing cunt, and she is still shaking.

Only when he rolls to lie beside her after a few minutes does he finally release her hands. Immediately, she turns onto her stomach, wincing. He smirks at her discomfort.

“How are you?” he asks in a low purr. She smiles drunkenly, her brow creased still from the effort of suppressing orgasm. Exhaustion is falling over her like a curtain.

She nods mindlessly. “Wanting,” she mumbles, and lays her head on her arms.

He strokes her hair. “Ah, but you were so good. So obedient, my girl.” Unthinking, she reaches out and tries to put a hand on his chest, but he catches her arm again. “Hawke,” he warns softly. “No touching tonight.”

Whining, she lets her hand fall back to the bed. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Fenris grins. “You were very good tonight,” he tells her. “My good girl. You take your beatings so well.”

“Thank you,” she sighs again, feeling the blush creep shyly up to her face.

“Feel free to heal yourself, love,” he coos, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

As she waves her hand to perform the spell, she smiles. “Thank you,” she repeats on autopilot. The phrase is hardwired into her now. He notices this, and chuckles.

“You are _so good_ for me,” he says warmly,  leaning towards her to press his lips to her forehead. She swoons. “Perhaps next time I will have you take far more than simply a beating,” he muses lazily. “I do wonder where the limit of your gratitude lies.”

She rolls her eyes. It takes all Hawke’s power not to touch him. He looks so soft and warm, and he seems to glow in his post-sex haze. “Don't push me _too_ far,” she laughs lightly. "I'm not looking to go all the way to my limit."

“You know I wouldn't do that to you,” he reassures her with a charming sleepy smile. “But what's a bit of blood to a dirty masochist like you, hm?”

Hawke giggles, feeling her belly grow hot again. “Blood, hm?” She shrugs. “We'll see.” She winks, and glances longingly at his mouth. He reads her expression, and captures her lips again with his. The kiss is soft and wet and deep, and it leaves them breathless. When he withdraws again, she is dizzy. “Wow.”

“Mm.” He hums comfortably, eyes falling closed.

“Fenris?” He quirks a brow to show  he is listening. She bites her lip shyly. “Will you let me come tomorrow?" She squirms. " _Please?_ ” He shrugs silently, and she rolls her eyes. “You ass.”

It is not long before he is asleep again, and Hawke watches him lovingly as his marked chest rises and falls gently. Fenris is so beautiful, but she curses those markings with every ounce of hatred she has. He deserves to enjoy touch. He deserves so much more than what those dreaded tattoos allow him to take, and it is unfair.

Hawke rolls over and goes to sleep facing away from him so that she will not once again be distracted by how attractive the elf is. But some hours later, she is woken by a warm hand around her waist. Fenris is curled against her back, and his arms are firmly around her.

She wants to say something, but his heavy breathing tells her he is completely asleep. Instead, Hawke simply revels in his closeness, pride and love surging wonderfully through her system. She drifts off again, and sleeps more peacefully than before, a wide smile gracing her even in her dreams.

 

 


End file.
